


Lessons From a Master

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (dean is 17-18 and cas is 27-30 when the story begins), Age Difference, M/M, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, brief team switch, cas/others, dean/others - Freeform, noble!cas, noble!dean, regency!au, twink!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Dean’s a wealthy noble with a life of leisure ahead of him… until a single indiscretion has his parents wondering if he’s at all fit for society. Now it is up to Lord Novak to “fix” Dean and his ungodly preference for the male form… Or does he have other plans for the young man?





	Lessons From a Master

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is another of my tumblr series that i've been working on. since i just finished it up, that means it's all now here on ao3. because it was posted to tumblr in installments, i've put all the installments here with a ~ ~ ~ between the original cuts. i haven't beta'd it or anything, so any errors in continuity, grammar/spelling issues, or odd flow are all on me. 
> 
> i also want to point out that this is a historical!au, but i never spent time researching for this type of story. i'm going for an overall feel of the time period (at least to the eye of a modern reader), so there are likely plenty of errors. 
> 
> if you're on tumblr, come visit me [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com), otherwise, enjoy!

Dean stared out the carriage as the scenery rolls by. Farms, woods, the occasional town or small home, that’s all he saw for miles. None of it was even remotely familiar, and it brought a small ache to his chest. He was alone, and he was trapped.

Not for the first time, Dean contemplated fleeing. Jumping from the moving carriage and darting into the fields or trees to hide. He didn’t know the coachman well, but he suspected he wouldn’t put too much effort into chasing him. He was older, more suited to the job he currently has than that of chasing useless boys who didn’t know their place.

The only reason Dean stayed put was he truly had nowhere to go. He had family and friends, yes, but none who would save him from his fate. If some of his relations, particularly the Campbells, were to ever find out what he’d done…

In an instant, he was brought back to that day nearly two months past. The day in the blacksmith’s shop, smiling sheepishly at Benny. The blacksmith’s apprentice was of an age with him, muscular and strong with lovely eyes and expressive features. Dean remembers his cheeks flushing at a saucy comment Benny had made, the moment he decided to throw caution to the wind, leaning forward to kiss him…

And then his father’s angry shout, the hard slap against his head, and the jarring confusion he’d felt as he’d been dragged bodily back to the carriage.

No, it wasn’t worth thinking about running. No one would take him in and few would be as merciful as his parents had been. They had merely sent him away, whereas his grandfather likely would have beaten him half to death before disowning him.

Besides, Dean had no real skills. He was decent at riding and hunting, but there was no conceivable way for him to make a living at it. He was a useless lord in training, at the mercy of his relations until he inherited Winchester Abbey.

Or if this left a permanent marr on his reputation, then until Sam inherited. He would no doubt show mercy on his brother.

With such pleasant thoughts to occupy him, it was no real surprise he was almost happy when the carriage lurched to a halt. For better or worse, they’d arrived, and that at least meant a distraction.

The door opened onto an estate, not so large as Winchester Abbey but no less splendid in its appearance or the grounds around it. It was a comfortable home, one obviously cared for by a devoted owner and staff, and went a long way of easing Dean’s unease.

At least it would have, were it not for the man coming towards him with a knowing look in his eyes.

Dean shuddered in shame. To think this man, this stranger knew of his indiscretion. Not only did he know, but he’d been charged with punishing Dean for it. The word “punish” had never been used, yet there was no other way for Dean to view his banishment.

This man meant to remake him, to cast aside the parts of Dean that were unacceptable, and Dean worried what methods such a man might use to achieve such an outcome.

“Mr. Winchester,” the man said with a slight nod and a welcoming smile. “Pleasure to have you here.”

Dean grumbled out what might have passed for a suitable reply. Again he was overcome with the urge to flee.

Not at all put off by Dean’s lack of manners or grace, the man continued on. “I am Lord Novak, which I’m sure you’ve already guessed. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

 _Doubtful_.

~ ~ ~

There wasn’t much time for actual conversation. Most of the day was spent with a tour of the house and grounds, as well as a brief history of the Novaks. As Dean suspected, his family was deeply religious and wealthy, a dangerous mix in general and the more so in Dean’s predicament.

He’d hear a sermon a day at least, he had no doubt. He’d be subjected to knowing everything sinful about his lusting after men and how it would only lead him to the bowels of hell for all eternity.

It wasn’t until dinner that Dean was expected to actually speak in any substantial way. Lord Novak asked him many a question about himself. His family, his hobbies, his favorite books, his plans for the future. He asked for details when Dean tried to get away with but a few words in answer, and he offered advice. His genuine interest threw Dean for a loop, and in no way prepared him for the question that it was all leading up to.

“Do you like girls, Dean?”

He flushed, cheeks and neck red hot, and he wished desperately he could disappear. “I like girls well enough,” he mumbled.

“Dean,” Novak said sternly. “I know it may be hard to believe right now, but I am here to help you. Things will go a lot smoother if you’re honest with me. Do you like girls?”

This was such a strange beginning that Dean was speechless. He’d expected a trap, some roundabout way of getting him to admit what he was, yet Novak brought the question out into the open like it was such a mundane topic. Something equal to knowing about Dean’s favorite horse or if he prefered fish or mutton.

“I, for one, am not attracted to girls,” Novak said casually, as if this were at all something one could say. “There are many fine young ladies in the country. I have several in my acquaintance, but not one has ever tempted me to feel more than a warm regard for them.

“My complete disinterest in a romantic entanglement with women has dictated many of the circumstances in my life. This estate in the country, for example. The company I keep when I’m in town. It’s all a careful construction to hide my…  _depravity_ , as my older brothers would call it.

“If I had even a passing interest in the female sex, I think things would be a lot different, but alas, I do not. So, Dean, I ask you again, simply so I know where to start. Do you like girls?”

Dean stared in wide-eyed shock at the other man. This certainly was the trap Dean had been waiting for. A fake confession to trick Dean into making one of his own.

Even so, there was something of truth to what Novak said. His face was too open. There was a calm about him, a confidence in who he was and a conviction in what he was saying.

Dean envied him for it, true or not.

“I like girls,” he repeated his earlier answer, though he hoped with more conviction.

Novak nodded in easy acceptance of his answer. “You simply prefer men, then? Or is perhaps equal, and more a matter of curiosity? Perhaps accessibility—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dean said abruptly. He rose from the table, eyes darting around for the nearest exit. “I’m not feeling well at the moment. I have a terrible headache and should very much like to take my leave to my room.”

Novak sighed, looking almost disappointed, but dismissed him with a wave. “Very well. We can continue this conversation tomorrow.  _If_  you’re feeling up to it, of course.”

Dean would deny it later, but he practically fled the room.

~ ~ ~

If he could, Dean would spend the remainder of his stay in his room. Even if he feigned illness, he could not reasonably stay in bed more than a day without a physician being called for, and he doubted his acting skills were up to such a challenge.

Never mind that he could not reasonably stay cooped up for an entire fortnight.

With great reluctance, he descended to breakfast. Every noise or movement in the corner of his eye had him gasping for air, the distinct feeling of a noose closing around his neck making it hard to breathe. This place and its esteemed owner would not take kindly to him if he resisted, yet he could not bear the thought of giving in to Novak’s plans.

Whatever they might be.

“Mr. Winchester,” Novak said brightly when he entered the room. He was buttering a slice of bread and reading the post. “Did you sleep well?”

He did not, and he suspected he looked it, but he wouldn’t admit any more weakness than he already had. “I slept just fine, thank you.”

He took a seat next to Novak. With more concentration than could possibly be necessary, he too took a slice of bread and busied himself with pouring honey over each nook and cranny. Perhaps if he ignored Novak, they would not have to speak.

Alas, he should have known better.

“I was thinking,” Novak began, and Dean tried not to wince, “that perhaps we should visit the village. It’s not much, but I always find it sets me at ease to know the area where I’m staying a little better. We could ride or walk, though I confess the ride would not do the area much credit, as it would take us no more than a quarter hour. By foot we could detour through the orchards.”

Startled by what to Dean’s mind was an obvious non sequitur, he looked up in startled confusion. He had had no doubts that Novak would once again broach the topic of the night before, had positively assumed there was no avoiding it, yet here they were discussing plans for the day.

_It means nothing. By horse or foot, I’ll be alone with him and have no escape, whatever topic he might choose to bring up._

“If you wish to go, I have no objection,” he said blandly, a hint of bite in his tone. “We could ride or walk, whichever you prefer.”

“We’ll make a walk of it, then,” Novak said jovally. Dean merely resigned himself to his fate.

~ ~ ~

They walked to the village and back. There was no end to what Novak had to say about the neighborhood and its residents, or failing that, about some book or spot of poetry he’d recently read. The man talked and talked… but he did not bring up the true reason for Dean’s visit again. It was as if they were old friends catching up.

The next day was no different, nor the next. Their means of entertainment changed ever so slightly, of course, but Novak did not so much as hint at their conversation that first night.

As the first week drew to a close, Dean was startled to find he liked Novak. The man had good taste, good manners, and a good sense of humor that did not at all seem to mind Dean’s sullen moods. If he could put out of mind why he was  _really_  here, Dean had no doubt they’d be friends.

But he could not forget.

It was now to the point where  _Dean_  felt himself wanting to talk about… the Incident. Though his motives were still unclear, there was a tentative friendship between them, and Novak was far enough removed from Dean’s family’s inner circle that his good opinion if lost was of no real consequence.

He already  _knew_  what Dean had done, didn’t he? There was certainly nothing worse that could happen if he  _admitted_  it, was there?

Dean reminded indecisive until he happened to catch a glimpse of Novak in an unguarded moment. He’d been enjoying some time alone in the library but had grown tired of sitting still. When he’d left to find Novak, he’d rounded a corner and seen… well, he couldn’t be sure  _what_  exactly he’d seen.

Novak leaning against the wall, into the space of one of his servants. The servant, a man Dean vaguely recognized, did not look at all put out by the invasion of his personal space. If anything, he invited it with a coy smile and a low, inviting tone. Dean could make out none of the words that were exchanged, but it seemed very intimate.

It seemed like they were  _flirting_.

Knowing he had not been spotted, Dean quickly and quietly backed away. He’d thought long about it for the rest of the day, and it wasn’t until evening that he’d come to a decision.

For better or worse, he would trust Novak enough to at least  _talk_.

“You  _don’t_  like girls?” The inflection made it clear it was a question, and thankfully Novak accepted it as such.

“I do not,” Novak agreed. He both sounded and looked amused.

“At  _all_?” Dean pressed, not letting his nerves or the slight teasing note dissuade him.

“Well, I wouldn’t say  _at all_. I have several friends of the female persuasion, as well as my sister of course. I like and even love some of them, but it is not the type of love that a man is expected to feel for a woman. Lust for women has always eluded me, despite my attempts to force the matter when I was a boy no more than your age. All those brothel visits did was confirm what I already knew.”

“Which was?”

Novak gave him an almost pitying look. “That I like men.”

Dean let out a shaky breath. He  _knew_  such men existed, ones that only wanted to bed other men, but to hear it stated so openly, so plainly, as if it were completely normal—

“I know this is quite the shock,” Novak said gently. “We should not speak of these things, even if we feel them. And I do not, as a general rule, unless I’m in the company of those who might understand. And the young men whose parents send them here out of desperation, those young men  _do_  understand.”

“I like girls,” Dean repeated adamantly. “I do. I-I—” He could not bring himself to say the word ‘lust’ as easily as Novak did, so he did not. “I’ve lain with a girl before. Kissed a few others. I liked it, I did.”

Novak nodded. “But you like men as well?”

His jaw clenched shut. He could not  _say_  it, but he forced himself to give a jerky nod.

“You are not alone in that respect,” Novak assured him. “There are other men and women like you. You needn’t feel alone, or that part of you is broken. We are all trapped by society’s rules, all of us, even your parents and other relations. It’s merely that for people like us—” He gestured between them. “—it’s a little more obvious how propriety interferes with our true selves.”

“You said you wanted to help me. This doesn’t sound like help. This sounds like you’re building me up with false security, ideas that will only get me into trouble—”

“I  _am_  here to help you. You have much to learn, and not merely in terms of accepting yourself. You are very fortunate that you do like girls, it will make things easier for you, but if you wish to have the option of…  _indulging_  in the male sex, there are ways to protect yourself. You are very fortunate your parents heard my name and sent you here. There are many people not nearly so tolerant, who would try to beat the devil out of you.”

He rolled his eyes as he said that last bit, as if it were the most absurd idea imaginable.

In that moment, Dean wanted to lean across the table and kiss him for it.

“I want to learn.” He could barely contain his enthusiasm. “I want to learn everything you can teach me. I want to—”

He wanted to “indulge,” as Novak said. He wanted to have the liberty to be with a man if he so chose, but he did not want to do so while living in constant fear of being found out. If he could avoid detection… that would be fantastic.

“Then it is fortunate there is still a week left in your stay,” Novak said. “Now, well shall we get started…”

~ ~ ~

It took barely a few minutes of talking before Dean realized just how out of his depth he’d been before. Novak knew  _so much_  and Dean wished he could take note of every word of it, though of course putting a word of it to pen and paper would be disastrous for them both.

There was so much Dean had never considered, and it overwhelmed him. Discretion of course was an obvious factor, one he’d  _thought_  he could handle up until the moment his father had smacked him. Even the nuances Novak explained to him on that matter were beyond anything Dean had truly considered. The type of person to approach, how to approach them, the necessary excuses should he get too far and mistake the other man’s intent…

And there were less obvious things. The necessary flirting with and courting of eligible young ladies. Dean’s particular need to find a wife, given he was the eldest son and would need to secure an heir of his own.

“You likely won’t have any trouble  _finding_  a wife,” Novak said. “You’re wealthy and young enough that you more or less have your choice. You may choose to let your family find a suitable bride for you, or you may choose to find one you have a genuine attachment for. Since you are attracted to women, all the better for you.

“The  _real_  trick will be finding someone who will be accepting of your interest in men, or at least who will stay quiet about it. The easiest solution would be to indulge now while you are unattached and free to do so without risking anyone’s feelings, and then to simply swear off men later on in life.”

That  _would_  be easiest, but now that Dean saw a world open to the possibility of bedding men  _and_  women… Well, he did not want to give it up in the name of some mystery woman he might marry years later.

“And if I don’t want to?” he asked.

Novak shrugged. “I could recommend to you some ladies who would be… motivated to allow you your secrets,” he said slyly.

“Why? I know my mother never took too kindly to my father’s dalliances with other women, and I’m sure my future wife would be the less pleased to find our marital bed filled with another man.”

“Mr. Winchester,” Novak scolded. “You think too narrowly. You only consider that there are men interested in other men. Did it not ever occur to you that there are women who only long for the company of other women? Such a bride would be ideal, for you could both secure your own standing in society, have children, and then never trouble yourselves with pleasing the other in any way more than friends do. You could have your liaisons with men and women alike, while she could have hers.”

Dean balked at the very suggestion. It truly had never occurred to him that such a thing was possible.

Now he longed for it.

“You could help—”

“I could and I would, but not yet. It’s a matter you should think on long and hard before committing, and you should gather some experience with men before you decide. You might find that you do, in fact, prefer women over men, and then it’s not an issue at all. You’ll have indulged in your desires and will always have the memory to keep you warm on chilly, lonely nights.”

Indulged. That word again. As if they were talking about another slice of cake with dinner instead of a mortal sin against God.

Dean dismissed the thought. He wasn’t exactly the God fearing man who believed every word he heard at church. His own morals had leaned away from the ramblings of old, bleary-eyed clergymen long before now, and he was willing to make another exception if it meant his own happiness.

Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

On and on the lessons went, strict instruction on how to live his life more freely and how, more importantly, to avoid suspicion.

At the latter, Novak truly was a master.

For years now, young men had been sent to him with the explicit goal of removing these dangerous desires. Instead of doing any such thing, he’d in fact been helping these men live true to themselves.

Now it was Dean’s turn.

~ ~ ~

“That’s all I can teach you,” Novak said as he stirred his tea.

Dean balked at him. For two days now, it was all they’d talked about, but still Dean refused to believe that was  _all_  there possibly was to know. “That’s it?”

The remainders of their lunch was carried off, and Novak waited until the servants had exited the room. “That’s all that I can  _tell_  you,” he said pointedly. “There are…  _other_  things… but they tend to do better with visual, hands on demonstrations.”

“Oh,” he squeaked. He prayed he wasn’t blushing, though knew he very likely was. “And you don’t…”

“Do you want me to?” Novak asked curiously.

Dean’s eyes betrayed him, moving to Novak’s lips before he forced them to meet Novak’s eyes again.

Novak mercifully did not comment on it. “I wouldn’t presume to offer myself,” he said dismissively. “I know there are times when there are very few options, and one will fall into bed with whoever is convenient.  _This_  is not one of those times, I assure you. This is my home, and my staff are all uniquely chosen for their… open-mindedness. You are free to approach anyone living and working here that is to your taste, man or woman. If they are not interested, they will politely decline. This is one of the few places in the world where you needn’t worry about hiding your inclinations, I assure you.”

Dean’s mind reeled at that. Surely such a place wasn’t possible.

“Everyone here likes men?”

“God, no,” he said with a snort. “There are plenty here who do not. But as I said, they are open-minded. They will gently let you down the first time you approach them and more firmly if they need to do it a second time. However, none of them will expose you, of that I give you my word.”

“Oh.”

It was still unbelievable to him. Novak had imparted so much information, and now it was up to him to employ it as best he could. Dean  _wanted_  to, desperately so, but taking the first few steps was terrifying.

“Might I suggest Aaron?” Novak said. “He’s a handsome enough lad. Works in the stables. He’s had an eye on you since you arrived. I daresay he could offer you a lot of practical demonstrations that go far beyond kissing.”

“Oh,” he said again, at a loss for what else he possibly  _could_  say in such circumstances.

Sensing his awkwardness, Novak graciously changed the subject, with only a final suggestion that he “think on it.”

Dean had no doubt that he would. In fact, he doubted he’d be able to think of anything else…

~ ~ ~

Dean woke from muddled dreams aroused, clutching at broken images that fled before he could pin them down. When his mind cleared, he hated to find himself alone in an empty bed. If only there were someone there with him to ease the ache between his legs…

It took no small amount of effort to ignore the temptation of touching himself. Normally he would, and he would do so gladly. Opportunities for partners were few and far between at home, mostly because of his mother’s watchful eye (a side effect of having an unfaithful father).

Now, with Novak’s promise of men and women about the grounds to willingly fall into bed with him…

He planned to go for a ride early today and hopefully find Aaron the stable boy. Still too young and inexperienced to even think of being picky, all Dean needed was someone who  _wanted_  to spend a night with him.

A flash of blue eyes and a charming half-smile floated through Dean’s memory. He pushed it aside. It was one he needn’t dwell on, not with a possible partner already waiting for him.

~ ~ ~

Aaron was handsome. Funny and friendly, and very obviously interested in Dean. There were lingering glances. Accidental touches. Hints that others might consider impertinent but that Dean found flattering.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private,” Aaron said in a low voice, a hand on Dean’s shoulder and his breath tickling Dean’s jaw. “To get to know each other a little better.”

Dean’s heart fluttered, though it took only a few seconds for him to realize it was not from anticipation. He was frozen in place, the desire he’d woken up with replaced with nerves. Was Dean ready? Was Aaron really who he wanted? Was this all a mistake?

“Or,” Aaron said easily without any obvious disappointment, “we could stay here, if you’d prefer. Your stay is for a few more days, I believe? There’s no rush.”

Relief flooded him and he muttered a thanks before excusing himself back to the house.

“What is wrong with me? Never in my life have I been so close!”

That didn’t explain his frustration, though. Dean knew he could turn around and find Aaron right where he left him. A brief apology would smooth over any awkwardness from his abrupt departure, of that he was sure, yet he could not bring himself to do it.

No, there was more to this than all that.  _Why_  wasn’t he interested in Aaron?

In an instant, the answer was before him.

“Mr. Winchester,” Novak greeted as he exited the library. He looked genuinely surprised but pleased to see Dean, and this time Dean’s heart thrummed in an undeniably pleasant way. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”

The meaning was clear— _I thought you and Aaron would be together for at least the afternoon_ —and Dean flushed slightly.

“I hadn’t expected to, either,” he confessed.

Novak appraised him for a moment, then stepped forward. “Dean.”

He startled to hear his given name said so gently by someone other than his family. It sounded wonderful, and Dean knew he wanted to hear it again and again.

“Is something wrong? Did something happen with Aaron?”

“No!” he said immediately. He didn’t want Aaron to get in trouble. “Not at all, it’s merely that I… that I…”

What  _was_  the problem?

In a rare moment of honesty, he had his answer.

A part of him wished that Novak himself had offered to take a more active role in this part of Dean’s stay. Dean didn’t want Aaron or a cook or anyone else. He wanted  _Novak_ , and anyone else would always fall short of where his true desires lay.

The real problem, the one that caused all his hesitation, was he didn’t know if it was his place to ask his mentor to take that step. Perhaps Novak wasn’t interested and had cut him off before an unreciprocated affection could derail their friendship—

No, that did not seem likely. Novak was always straightforward. If he’d been completely opposed to sleeping with Dean, he would have said so outright. More likely, he was deferring to Dean. It would be easy to assume Dean wanted someone his own age, or that it would feel like he was pressuring Dean, using his position as his host, mentor, and an older gentleman.

_Does that mean if I were to approach him now…_

“I don’t want a stranger,” he said abruptly, hoping his instincts were right. “I’ve spent all of a half hour with Aaron. I have so little experience with men in general, I don’t feel comfortable trusting stolen moments with a man I barely know.”

“If you’d like my leave to spend more time with Aaron—”

“It’s not that,” Dean said quickly. “There’s someone I’d rather spend my time with. Someone I’d rather spend my time with, no matter how that time is spent.”

Novak eyed him shrewdly. Goosebumps prickled along his skin but he just managed not to fidget under Novak’s gaze.

“If you mean me,” he said slowly, “I confess I would not be opposed to being with you more intimately. If that is in any way what you would like, you need but say the word—”

“Yes!” He had not the words to be more elegant, but Novak seemed to understand him. Soon there would be no need for words at all. “Yes, please. I’d rather it be you.”

With a charming smile, Novak stepped forward and took Dean’s hand in his own. The soft pressure nearly undid Dean right then and there.

“As you wish, Mr. Winchester.” Then he lifted Dean’s hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss on the smooth skin there. “Dean. As you wish, Dean.”

~ ~ ~

If Dean had any expectations of being lead to the nearest bedchamber, he was completely mistaken. There was a moment when they walked hand in hand together, but the moment passed when Novak opened the door to his parlor and motioned for Dean to go inside.

“Scotch?” Novak offered as he poured himself a generous glass. “I could ring for some wine if you’d prefer.”

His throat suddenly dry, Dean fell into the nearest chair. “Scotch is fine.”

Novak nodded and brought over a glass for him. Dean’s glass had noticeably more in it, and he laughed uneasily.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Not at all,” Novak said, already sipping his own drink. He’d chosen a seat right next to Dean, their legs close enough that they could brush together. And they did, of course they did. “I want you to be relaxed. I know how nervous I was the first time I even so much as kissed a man, and it nearly ruined the rest of the evening. I’ve learned since then that I’m not the only one who anxious. A drink helps. Talking helps. Taking things slow helps.”

“And you’re here to help,” Dean muttered, remembering his first night ever. Desire coarsed through him and he hated the additional delay of ‘talking.’ Novak had said he was interested, had he not? Why were they sitting stiffly in his parlor and not ravishing each other behind closed doors?

“I am,” Novak reassured him, leaning forward. In a touch so gentle it was barely there, his fingers traced the back of Dean’s hand. It was chaste and completely innocent, yet it was subtly indecent given everything else growing between them. “I want you to enjoy yourself, and I promise, this will help.”

Silence reigned as Dean scowled at his drink. “Is this because you’re not interested—?”

“Dean.” It was the only time Dean had ever heard Novak’s voice take that sharp, almost angry tone. “If it were up to me and me alone, I’d have had you in my bed every night. You’re quite possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever had the good fortune of laying my eyes on, and you’re a pleasure to spend time with. I assure you, if there are any difficulties from this moment forward, it is not because I don’t  _want_  this to work.”

There was a lot to unpack in all Novak had said, but the only thing that stuck was what Dean blurted out next. “You think I’m handsome?”

That earned a deep laugh from Novak. “I’m not  _blind_ , though your modesty is just another endearing characteristic.” Warmth spread through Dean’s chest. “You are indeed quite handsome. It makes me question your life outside these walls that you have no idea of the truth in those words.”

Dean sat there, blushing and staring at his hands. Remembering he had a drink, he sipped it to hide his embarrassment.

“Mr. Novak—”

“I should probably add, I refuse to allow you to call me that when it’s just the two of us. Please, call me Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, his earlier arousal returning in full force. There’s something so scandalous about using his future lover’s given name. “So we share a few drinks, flirt shamelessly, and then what?”

“And then I teach you how good pleasure between two men can be.” It was only by chance that Dean didn’t choke. “But again, I need you to relax. Being tense and stiff won’t do you any favors. Instead, let the scotch do its job and let me do mine, knowing it’ll be more than worthwhile.”

He took a deep, steadying breath. His father’s father had once told him, anything worth doing was worth doing right. It was an approach that had never failed him before, and if it’s what Novak recommended…

What  _Castiel_  recommended, he corrected himself. The intimacy of using his name—and the prospect of so much more intimacy between them—was enough.

“Alright,” Dean said, putting on what he hoped was a charming smile. When Castiel answered with one of his own, Dean felt his own grow. “Let’s talk…”

~ ~ ~

“Are you relaxed?” Castiel breathed into his ear. “Are you comfortable?”

Dean shivered, able to feel how close Castiel was to him. Dean lay naked on Castiel’s bed, his hips raised by pillows and his face buried in sheets that smelled faintly musky. They’d undressed in a hurry, a moment of frenzy in an otherwise slow and measured dance that Castiel was trying to teach him.

Now, as he considered Castiel’s questions, Dean was lulled back into that earlier calm. Even though he was bare, he truly felt serene,  _ready_ , as Castiel hovered over him. Every almost there touch felt like a caress, a butterfly kiss.

“Yes,” he said. He felt like he was in a dream. His senses were pleasantly dulled with drink, but his body still felt as taut as a rope. He craved all that was to come, now only moments away.

“Good. Wait here.”

Then Castiel’s heat was gone, nothing but cold air left in his wake. Dean shivered slightly, feeling exposed.

“Where—?”

“Shhh.” Before Dean could even turn to look for him, Castiel was back at the edge of the bed, gently nudging Dean’s legs apart. “There are many ways to do this, and this is the one I think you’ll enjoy the most. But it requires more than just my hands to ease the way. Let me show you…“

A soft hand stroked his thigh, while something cool pressed against his hole. He gasped slightly at the touch, but Castiel’s quiet encouragement made it easy to trust him.

That, and that it felt amazing, whatever he was doing.

His fingers expertly massaged Dean’s hole. The oil gradually warmed up as he spread it until that moment when he pressed a single finger against the pucked muscle and barely pushed in.

“Castiel,” he moaned, then bit his lip.

“Not like your time with that farmer’s daughter, is it?” Castiel tased, his fingers continuing to work magic.

“Not at all,” he said, and he meant it.

Those stolen moments with Lisa had been rushed, both of them unable to afford a long absence. It was enjoyable for them both, but they had not had the leisure to commit each second to memory, to learn each other’s bodies and what truly made the other gasp and writhe in delight. Circumstances had also made it impossible for them to continue the affair, something which Dean regretted at the time.

This, on the other hand, was something else entirely. They’d barely started, yet Dean knew it was different. It was more, it was a beginning instead of a culmination of a brief acquaintance.

It would last, leave its mark on him in ways he even now could not fully understand.

A second finger penetrated him and brought a pleasant pressure with it. “Better, I hope,” Castiel teased.

“Much,” Dean nodded. His cock was hard and pressed into the pillows. He wanted to move against them, to generate friction and recreate that feeling he’d had when he’d been with Lisa.

“Go ahead,” Castiel said, encouraging the motion with his free hand. Dean groaned loudly as his hips moved, and Castiel hummed in approval. “Take what you need. I’ll do my best to give you the rest.”

Time dragged on in the most delightful way as Dean’s hips and Castiel’s fingers worked in tandem to bring the most wonderful feelings of bliss.

When Castiel’s hands disappeared, the loss was so abrupt Dean whined pitifully.

“I’m still here,” Castiel soothed, but there was strain in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Are you ready?”

“Mmhmm.” Dean was not completely sure what he was agreeing to, only that he wanted more of anything and everything Castiel had to offer.

The bed shifted with Castiel. There was a dull pressure at Dean’s slick hole, one that he understood, and he tried to spread his legs more to better accommodate Castiel. It was madness, feeling Castiel slowly push into him. Dean was so full, so overjoyed at the feeling of… of completion, of knowing he could share an experience such as this with Castiel.

“You’re even more beautiful now than ever,” Castiel whispered as he pressed tender kisses along the back of Dean’s neck. He had stopped moving, waiting perhaps for some sign Dean didn’t know to look for or how to give. It didn’t matter; Dean trusted that whatever Castiel did, he did it for a reason. “What I wouldn’t give to keep you here in my bed.”

“What I wouldn’t give to stay,” Dean mumbled into the bed, unsure if Castiel heard him.

Soon Castiel started to move, each thrust slow and controlled. There was a slight burn when he started that gradually faded, and soon all Dean could feel was  _Castiel Castiel Castiel_. There was nothing beyond this room, this coupling, beyond the man above him. His own pleasure aside, Dean loved hearing the throaty moans Castiel gave out, the meaningless words he babbled between praise of Dean being “so good” and “so lovely.”

When Castiel reached beneath him to stroke his cock, Dean was completely lost.

After they’d both found their release, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to allow Castiel to dote on him. He cleaned Dean and the bedding. Kissed him again and again as he lay there, drifting between wakefulness and sleep. And when he covered Dean in fresh blankets, he settled in behind him and held him until he finally drifted off.

~ ~ ~

Castiel had Dean’s ass at least two more times that day, and when he was no longer able to keep up with Dean’s libido, he pleasured Dean with his hands and mouth. They barely left Castiel’s room for the next few days, and the lulls between passionate embraces were always the same, filled with wine, food, and sleep.

And talk.

Aside from being an attentive lover, Castiel still donned the cap of mentor. After every new experience, Castiel would take the time to ask Dean about it. What he liked, what he disliked, how to do such things with other men. He went into great detail on acquiring the oil, as well as its various uses.

It was admittedly hard to concentrate on words when all Dean wanted were more hands on demonstrations… but Castiel was merciful enough to repeat everything at least twice. Hopefully it would sink in before Dean had to leave in three days time.

The last thing Dean wanted to think about was leaving, so he searched for the first possible distraction.

“Do you sleep with the men who are sent to you?” he asked as Castiel stretched, the muscles of his back rippling.

“No,” Castiel said. “Some, but not as many as you’d expect. There are plenty of men who live here aside from myself, and I’m not so vain to think I’m handsomer than all or even most of them.”

Granted, Dean hadn’t met everyone who lived and worked here, but he could not  _imagine_  anyone being more attractive than the man before him. “So not everyone who’s come has my good taste.”

Castiel smiled (though Dean was disappointed to note he did not blush, he  _never_  blushed). “There’s no need to flatter me, Mr. Winchester,” he teased. “I do believe I’ve already shown I’m susceptible to your charms.”

While earlier Dean had shuddered to hear his given name on Castiel’s lips, now hearing his family name had the same effect.

_It’s not the name, it’s the man saying it._

“So how will you entertain yourself when I leave tomorrow?” Dean asked. He wasn’t sure why he asked. Did he worry Castiel had other lovers? Surely he did, and who was Dean to begrudge him that? Perhaps he needed to ground himself in the reality that he  _was_  leaving, and so soon.

“After you’ve left?” Castiel said with a dismissive air. “Why would you bring up such things and sully our last night together? Come here.” He motioned to the bed and pulled Dean into a kiss once he was within reach. “There’s one last thing I want you to try.”

“What?” Dean whispered against Castiel’s lips, lost in blue eyes.

Castiel handed him the bottle of oil and then lay back on the bed, stretching languidly in a sinful offering of his body. “Let’s see how much you’ve learned…”

~ ~ ~

As the carriage bumped its way along the road, Dean found himself glad that Castiel hadn’t taken him again the previous night. It had been a mercy indeed, waiting until the end to offer himself so that Dean could enjoy his ride in relative comfort.

No, the only thing to disrupt the calm was the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing him. Now that he was alone, there was no avoiding them.

What would his parents say when he returned? What would  _he_  say when they asked him about his stay, about Castiel? Would they be convinced his “lapse” was behind him? Would Dean be able to find those moments to “indulge” when he craved them?

… Would Castiel miss him?

Without thinking, his hand came up to finger the letter in his breast pocket. It was to his parents, but Castiel had read it aloud as he’d written it so that Dean would know its contents. All about Dean’s “impressive progress” and his “repentance,” that he was “ready to rejoin civilized society.”

But of course, no matter how changed Dean might seem, he should be carefully watched, and if any signs of melancholy or any other behavior that worried them made themselves apparent, they should feel free to send Dean back to Castiel’s tutelage. It was not uncommon for young men to need reminders, to need reinforcement to keep them on the right path, and it was nothing to fear.

This was a process, and Castiel was more than willing to continue guiding Dean as much as necessary.

Dean smiled, and felt much more at ease. While his immediate future might be unclear, there was one thing Dean  _was_  sure of: he would see Castiel again, and hopefully soon.

~ ~ ~

“Did he take you to a brothel?” Sam asked, as completely guileless as ever.

Dean nearly choked on his brandy. His welcome home had been mixed. His parents weren’t quite sure what to do with him, eyeing him shrewdly whenever he interacted with man or woman alike. The servants were obviously curious and out of the loop, though clearly had their own rumors and speculation that they wanted put to rest.

The only one who acted as though nothing was different was Sam, yet apparently there was at least a  _little_  that had changed.

“No! Of course not!”

“Are you sure? Because Father said that was the easiest solution. To put the fear of God into you and then take you to a brothel.”

“Put the fear of God in me?” His hand came up unconsciously to where his father had hit him a over a month ago. No doubt ‘putting the fear of God’ into him involved a lot more of the same.

Sam shrugged. “I heard him say so to Mother.”

“Well, thankfully, Cas— _Mr. Novak_  had different methods than anything Father could have come up with.”

“So you’re fixed?” Sam asked.

Dean winced. He’d grown up thinking there was indeed something wrong with him, but with Castiel, he’d felt normal. Like he wasn’t broken at all and shouldn’t think of himself that way, but rather it was society that was broken and unfair to people like him.

Now his brother, his  _own brother_ , was reminding him of the prejudice he would face all his life if he ever slipped up.

“I am,” he said rather gruffly. He wished for an escape—

“Are you angry with me?” Sam said quietly.

“What?”

“You look upset. Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, it’s just that Mother and Father had me worried, and now it looks like I’m making things worse.”

Instantly Dean felt guilty. Sam was one of the few people who knew the full story of what had happened and, unlike their parents, he’d never thought any less of Dean for it. How he now viewed it or talked about it would all be colored by what their parents had said.

Dean was broken and been sent away to be fixed, after all.

“I’m not broken,” he said in a raspy voice. He looked around needlessly to make sure they were alone, but of course they were, it was a dower day and they were out on a walk through the trees. “I wasn’t broken before, and I’m not now.”

“Okay.” Sam’s easy acceptance was a balm to Dean’s heart. At least one person beyond Castiel’s estate thought him no less of a man. “But if you mean you’re the same as before, then why did Lord Novak send you back? If he was supposed to change you to be like Mother and Father want—”

“That’s complicated, and I promise there will eventually come a day when I can reveal to you more. However, I  _can’t_ , so long as neither of us is our own master. I don’t want to expose you to any danger on my behalf—”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam said, all at once a stubborn child and proving to Dean that no matter how old Sam might act, he truly was not ready to know all that Dean did. “I’m nearly fifteen.”

“And I’m nearly nineteen. It didn’t save me from being carted off from my own home,” Dean pointed out.

Sam pouted, another reminder that fifteen was not nearly so old as Sam liked to think it was, then said, “I’m sorry I implied you were broken or needed fixing. I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you, Sammy,” Dean said with genuine affection. “I appreciate that.”

~ ~ ~

As Castiel had warned him to do, Dean took lovers. Not lovers in more than name, for he had sexual intercourse with none of them.

There were ladies of good breeding that he made a show of courting until he had a reasonable excuse to end any hopes of an actual engagement. He was very careful never to go too far if he thought a young lady’s attachment was greater than his own. Most seemed flattered by the attention but not terribly distressed when they realized his feelings weren’t engaged.

There were also young women from the neighboring towns and villages who were perfectly happy with a young lord’s attention, so long as he exchanged gifts for sweet kisses and embraces. For the sake of their reputations, he never allowed such trysts to be known publicly.

No, it was only for the benefit of his parents, who looked on with approval whenever they heard rumors from their loyal butlers and other staff who were no doubt responsible for keeping tabs on Dean. His parents gave him very little freedom at first, but as more rumors of his lovers reached them, they relaxed much more. They still looked at him like they didn’t quite know what to make of him, though, and that hurt more than Dean thought possible.

To them, he was less than he had been.

The thought was always on the back of his mind, and it wore him down. More than avoiding the blacksmith’s shop. More than never letting his eyes linger on a handsome gentlemen at a ball. Perhaps more than missing Castiel and the freedom and acceptance he’d felt there.

Soon his determination to prove to his parents he could be trusted gave way to longing. If they weren’t going to give him what he craved, perhaps Dean should go somewhere that would.

“I’d like to return to Lord Novak’s estate for a few weeks this fall,” he said blandly at dinner one night.

“Why?” John sounded more shocked than displeased. “You’ve done so well.”

“You have seemed rather out of sorts,” Mary said, eyes narrowing as she inspected her son. “Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to send him off. Nip it in the bud, as it were, should he lapse into any… distasteful old habits.”

Dean very forcibly kept his face neutral at that. It would do him no good to show how he truly felt about such talk.

“Very well,” John agreed with a dismissive air. “I’ll write to make the inquiries.”

For the rest of the day, Dean could barely contain a smile.

It shouldn’t feel like he was going home, but there was no other way to describe his delight at seeing Castiel again.

~ ~ ~

Dean’s excitement was only rivaled by his nervous fretting.

His life at home has improved of late because of all Castiel had taught him, but he’d felt a restlessness. At the Novak estate, he’d been his own master. At home, he had to put on airs for his parents. It had seemed so clear that a return to the familiar lands would be liberating once more, except…

Except he had his heart set on spending his nights (and days, if possible) in Castiel’s bed. It had only occurred him on the ride over that it might not be feasible. What if Castiel had other guests, other lovers in attendance whom he preferred? Or at very least required his attention. It was boyish fantasy to assume things would be as they were.

 _One night,_  he told himself.  _Hope for but one night and content yourself with that much._

 _And what then?_  countered another voice.  _Fall into bed with the stable boy or someone else?_

_Would that be so bad?_

_No. But it wouldn’t be Castiel._

He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts and stared determinedly out the carriage window. He sounded like a lovesick fool, and he didn’t care for it. After all, being a lovesick fool had gotten him in trouble with Benny in the first place.

No, his heart he would have to keep locked away, even from the charms of one Castiel Novak.

His body on the other hand…

A shiver ran through him. The ghost of Castiel’s touch was never more than a daydream away, though he had been careful to only indulge when alone for fear of just how far the fantasies might go. He was never quite control of himself when his mind wandered to sweet embraces and heated kisses—

Luckily he was saved from an embarrassment such thoughts might bring him by the lurch the carriage coming to a halt.

In a stark contrast to his first visit, no one was on the steps to greet him. Dean wondered if his father had mismanaged the date or neglected some detail necessary for the stay. Perhaps the trip was all for naught and he’d be sent home.

It was only when a butler met him in the entryway that Dean relaxed. Joshua didn’t seem at all surprised by Dean’s presence, though he looked a touch embarrassed.

“Mr. Winchester,” he greeted. “I apologize on behalf of my master, who was called away on business yesterday and assumed he would be back in time to greet you. No matter how old he gets, Mr. Novak never gets any better at managing his affairs.”

Dean laughed at that, more from relief than genuine amusement at Castiel’s expense. Nothing was amiss, except perhaps that their reunion was postponed. Probably for the best, because he now realized how tightly wound his nerves were. With that chuckle, he’d released so much.

He’d have made a damned fool of himself had Castiel been there.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, he made sure his things were properly moved to his room (the same as before, he noted with no small amount of pleasure) then took a turn about the grounds. His hope was that Castiel would return during his in absence, allowing him time to collect his thoughts but no idle waiting around when he returned.

If Dean were a bolder man, he thought he might contrive for Castiel to find him naked in the master’s chambers. The idea sent a spark of arousal through him, but he left it at that. He did not want to rush things, not when they had nearly a month before them.

The first signs of dusk colored sky when Dean finally braved a return to the house. He’d toured the orchards mostly, hoping the greenery would hide him and give him ample solitude to reflect. It had centered him, restored that but of peace he’d lacked for some time now. It was a peace he knew he would never find at Winchester Abbey, least not while his parents resided there. He’d always have to put on a show and live in a way not fully true to himself.

Though he knew he’d never truly be able to live out in the open, he very much hoped to follow Castiel’s example. While society as a whole did not know his secret, his staff did. In his home at least he was free. More than that, he helped others. He strove to make the world better for men like them whose only crime was being different.

Dean would very much like to be a man like Castiel Novak.

When he did return to the house, there was a servant waiting to escort him to dinner. Dean’s disappointment at finding himself alone was easily quashed.

 _A month,_  he reminded himself.  _There’s time yet._

All sour thoughts fled when he returned to his room that evening. The fire was already lit, though his valet peculiarly absent.

There was, however, a naked man laying atop his sheets.

“I’m not normally so theatrical,” Castiel said, deep voice echoing in the room. “But I thought it might make up for not being able to meet you earlier.”

Dean almost laughed to see his own plan come to life against him. The laugh he just barely managed to stifle, but the grin that overtook his features he was powerless against.

“I don’t know,” he said with mock severity. “I was quite put out to find myself alone. I’m afraid you’ll have to make it up to me…”

As he spoke he started to undo his cravat, his jacket, taking small steps forward but no close that Castiel could touch him. Nevertheless, the other man watched him like a hawk, his expression as predatory as it was hungry.

“I’m at your service,” he said, voice husky. “Whatever I can do to redeem myself.”

Now Dean worked his pants, the growing bulge obscene. “I might have an idea or two…”

~ ~ ~

A month passed all too quickly. By the end of it, Dean felt foolish for ever thinking it would be adequate. How could he ever drink his fill of this place?

Or of Castiel?

It was with a heavy heart that he bid his farewells.

“You are welcome as often as you would like,” Castiel reminded him between melancholy kisses. “My doors are always open to you.”

“What if I come when you have another lover here?” Dean pouted. “It might be selfish of me, but I would prefer having you all to myself.”

Castiel smiled indulgently at him. “And you always will. I am more than adept at scheduling my visitors so that I can devote all of my time to those who seek it.”

He didn’t bother making the promise of having no other lovers, of which Dean was somewhat glad. Though he might want Castiel all to himself even when they weren’t in each other’s company, he was not ready to admit such an attachment even to himself, nevermind Castiel. Until such an occasion should ever occur, he did not want to disrupt Castiel’s life for no other reason than his being smitten with the man.

“Very well,” Dean said, hoping he sounded put upon though he was sure he did not. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you to manage your own affairs. I would very much dislike having to spend a night alone should I make such a long trip to see you.”

Castiel leaned in to cup his cheek, kissing him on the very tip of his nose. “Of this you can always be assured, Dean. When you are here, you have my full attention and my bed should you like it.”

It was a promise that Dean fully intended to hold him to.

~ ~ ~

Years passed a pattern emerged. While Dean’s family went to town for the winter months, Dean would divert his own trip to visit Castiel for at least a few weeks. Whatever time they could spare each other, they did. Dean’s family no longer worried Dean might succumb to vice and needed Castiel’s guidance; they saw the two as friends and supported the acquaintance out of hope that the prestige of the Novak name might rub off on them.

(Though Sam sometimes looked at Dean or spoke in a manner that hinted he suspected more. His approval was no less, so Dean never felt inclined to ask his brother or burden him with his own occasional lovesick thoughts.)

It was a good routine, one that made Dean actually look forward to the cold dreary weather. He was willing to endure a great deal for the sake of Castiel’s company, never mind the consistency of such an arrangement.

It was not the only routine, though.

Over time, Dean grew confident enough to take other lovers to his bed. Well, not his own bed to be sure. His parents approved of him now and he could not risk being caught in a “relapse” of past mistakes. Luckily the men he bedded had just as much to lose as he did and were often far more discreet than the young ladies who hoped rumors might work in their favor.

Castiel during the winter, his other dalliances throughout the year.

There were also the social engagements that never ended, whether at Winchester Abbey or London. Dean had learned to navigate them years ago but only at a superficial level, where he was a young man looking to make friends and divert himself from the monotony of only having his family for company.

As he grew older and his parents’ attention turned intently his way once again, he had to learn to adapt. No longer could he merely feign interest in pretty girls, now he had to actively look for a possible bride. There were many temptations—personality and compatibility were of course a consideration, but so was a handsome face and figure, as was land, wealth, or the prestige of an old name—but in truth Dean could only think of one.

Which would allow him his lovers? Who would turn a blind eye if she ever

Again and again he thought of Castiel’s recommendation, his suggest that he find a girl in similar circumstances. It was in many ways not ideal, since he had hoped to marry for love or at least something more than convenience, but as his parents paraded more and more eligible young ladies before him, Dean resigned himself to at least speaking to Castiel about it.  

With all these thoughts of marriage his constant companion, it did nothing to reduce the utter shock he felt when it was Castiel himself brought it up.

Dean should have known something was wrong the moment he arrived. The excitement of their affair was always palpable his first day at Castiel’s estate, but this time it had been even more intense. Castiel devoured Dean’s mouth, was demanding in his touches and dominating in bed to an excessive degree. Dean did not mind. In truth, he enjoyed the rough display of dominance, something that harkened back to their first few couplings more than the easiness of how things had been more recently. Yet he could not deny it was different.

It was even more different when Castiel was the same the next night and the next. It was almost desperation the way he took Dean again and again. He was relentless, he was insatiable, he was—

He was saying good-bye.

“I’m getting married,” Castiel said one morning after he’d brought Dean to completion with nothing but his mouth. They lay next to each other in the soft light filtering in through the window, and it almost felt like a dream.

Dean knew better.

“What?” he demanded, pushing up onto his elbow so he might turn to look at Castiel and see if he was jesting.

“I’m getting married. In two months. To a Lady Naomi.” Castiel would not look at Dean, only at the ceiling. His eyes were glassy, as if he weren’t truly letting himself live this moment.

“Why?”

It stung, Dean couldn’t deny that. It shouldn’t, since he himself meant to marry, but somehow the words felt like a dagger in his chest. After all these years, after everything Castiel had said and done, he had seemed untouchable. Marriage was a concern for men other than himself, an obstacle he’d avoided by being a younger son.

So why would he marry now?

Castiel sighed, turning away. “My brother has arranged it. There are apparently some… financial difficulties in the family that have necessitated a marriage to a wealthy family. As the youngest and only unmarried brother, it has fallen upon my shoulders to do what’s necessary to help the family.”

He said it like it was a death sentence, which hurt all the more. It wasn’t a fate Castiel was choosing for himself, one that would better his life.

It was making his life a prison instead.

“And you don’t expect this Naomi to be very accepting, do you?” Dean asked, already too aware of what the answer would be.

“No. No, I do not.”

Dean was at a loss. In all their time together, he had never been in a position to offer Castiel comfort. He had no advice to offer, no words of wisdom that might make this better. What  _could_  he possibly say?

Instead he focused on what he could do. He had another two days here to offer himself to Castiel in whatever way he needed, and he was determined to do it.

Gently, he slid his arms around Castiel and moved in close. Their bodies pressed together with no room between them, he pressed kisses along the back of Castiel’s neck.

 _I’m sorry,_  he wanted to say, but dared not speak. He hoped Castiel knew his regret all the same.

~ ~ ~

No matter what he did, there was no denying the simple truth: his heart ached and ached and ached. For himself, for Castiel, for all the other men and women forced into similar circumstances because life and society provided them no better choices.

It was not in Dean’s nature to leave things be.

Though he didn’t mention Castiel’s impending nuptials for the rest of his time there. His stay was too short, their time together too limited, that neither could bear to speak of it. Dean did the kind thing and did not, though it was never far from his thoughts.

It was only when he returned to his life that he allowed himself to really work on the problem.

Castiel needed the money and his family’s support. That was unfortunately something that Dean could not supplement. If Castiel were perhaps willing to live with a more modest income, he could protest his brother’s choice. Dean honestly knew so little of the other Novaks that he assumed that was not a possibility. An elder brother who would insist on a marriage is likely one that would not accept a refusal.

To deny his brother would mean being disowned and completely cut off.

That left the lady in question and her family. If Castiel’s family would not change their minds, perhaps this Lady Naomi’s family would.

Dean did what he could to, as discreetly as possible, find out as much about her as he could. It was embarrassingly easy. The match had been announced and his friendship with Castiel was well known. His curiosity was deemed natural. Only Sam eyed him suspiciously, but his brother’s concern was easily brushed aside.

Nothing Dean learned soothed his fears.

Lady Naomi had a reputation for being strict and extremely religious. With Castiel’s reputation, it was thought they would make a good match; knowing what Dean did, he knew that could not be further from the truth. A woman like that would not accept any unfaithfulness in her husband, especially not if she found him in the bed of another man.

Her name and wealth would make her Castiel’s superior in the match despite her gender. He would have to defer to her wishes, denying that part of himself he’d had the good luck to indulge in for most of his life.

The more Dean thought about it, the more apparent it became that there was but one solution: the only means for Castiel to escape would be a scandal, one so public and great that his fiance’s family would cut absolutely all ties with the Novaks.

There was an obvious scandal that could come out at any moment. If Castiel’s sexual appetites were known, then it would easily free him from Naomi’s grasp… but it was clearly not that simple. Should any hint of Castiel’s inclination for men be known, then it would call into question all the “work” he had done mentoring young men such as Dean.

Knowing the truth about Castiel would lead to questions about how exactly he had “helped” all those who had come to his estate. It would save Castiel from Naomi, but it would ruin his reputation as well as Dean’s and dozens of others, and likely result in Castiel being disowned anyway.

In conclusion, Castiel was stuck. Unless he could somehow use his own familiar influence on his brother or make himself unappealing to Naomi and her family, the marriage would take place.

And Dean would likely never see Castiel again, save at social occasions in town.

Dean could imagine no fate worse than the lie Castiel would be forced to live. And in his heart of hearts, he discovered his own feelings on the matter were not so simple. He was not merely mourning a friend or lover.

He was mourning the loss of the love of his life.

~ ~ ~

They’d continued to write to each other. They had to, for the sake of appearances if nothing else. Dean worried that’s all it was to Castiel, perfunctory, but to him it was so much more: his last connection to a man he loved and would likely not see much of in the future. He filled every word he inked on the page with as much feeling as he could, though of course every bit of it was hidden by the facade of friendship.

The most recent letters from Castiel, the ones since his confession of his impending nuptials, had a melancholy tone. There was the same underlying affection was still there, the one that Dean had once taken for granted but now treasured. He hoped it was a sign his own love was reciprocated… not that it mattered. He’d never have a chance to ask, nor should he if the opportunity ever arouse.

It would only make their predicament more tragic.

So when another letter arrived, Dean steeled himself for the same exercise in torment he was used to. He waited until he had a moment all to himself to savor each and every line, to admire Castiel’s handwriting, to labor over each letter of his own reply.

But as he read it… it was not what he expected.

It wasn’t just melancholy, it was downright depressing. Even a stranger would no doubt be able to detect the grim tone.

Dean read it over and over to try and pinpoint what was so terribly wrong. What was it in this letter that made his chest ache so?

And then he realized it: this letter was a good-bye. Castiel did not say as much, but he laid it out for Dean. He would not write Dean again. He would not invite Dean to his home again. There would be no additional meetings, even under the pretenses that the public already knew.

But why?

With a brandy in hand, Dean spent a great deal of the night pondering that very question to no avail.

It appeared he’d lost Castiel completely after all.

~ ~ ~

Sam was the one who broke the news to him.

Dean spent the better part of a week moping after that letter. The first night was unbearable, but he’d hoped that in the morning he’d be in a better mood. Perhaps he’d misread what Castiel was trying to tell him.

Alas, no amount of wishing it so could change his opinion of what Castiel had told him. It was over, all of it.

Forever.

So naturally, he’d stayed in as much as possible. He was in no mood to fake good humor and smiles for those who would never understand his lose. Who would never accept it even if they did. He’d made excuses to avoid social obligations. Headaches or business to take care of.

It naturally fell to Sam to pick up the slack. His attendance was now mandatory, as he was the only one willing to represent the Winchester family at certain events. So naturally, Sam found out the news first.

“Here,” Sam said without preamble, handing Dean a glass of wine one evening.

If Dean were smart, he’d refuse the drink—he’d had far too many this evening on his own—but he accepted it. “Who died?” he joked, then immediately noticed Sam’s stony expression. “Good god, no one’s actually died, have they—?”

“No,” Sam said with a dismissive wave. “No, no one’s died.”

“Then what is it? You’re scaring me. You haven’t looked this serious since Father wouldn’t let you breed hunting dogs.”

Sam took a seat opposite Dean, studying his brother carefully. Instead of squirming, Dean took advantage of the wine in hand and took a long drink. Finally, Sam spoke.

“Castiel Novak’s engagement is broken.”

It was a wonder that Dean didn’t drop the glass on the ground.

“What?” he choked. “Are you certain—?”

“Everyone’s talking about it,” Sam said. “It’s quite true. I wouldn’t bring it up if I weren’t absolutely sure.”

Dean didn’t know how he felt. He was elated at Castiel’s escape, but all he could think about was the letter. Was that before or after the engagement ended? If it was after, and he was still saying good-bye…

“What happened? Tell me everything. How’d he do it? Where is he? Did his brother—?”

“You care about him a great deal. Admit it.”

Dean’s jaw clicked shut. He’d avoided this particular conversation with Sam on a number of occasions. Early on, it was to protect Sam from the details of what had happened between them. More recently, it was to avoid the very question Sam was now asking, though he had not said it out loud.

“I love him,” Dean whispered. He saw no point in hiding it now, not from Sam. If there was anyone who might understand, it was his brother. “I’m in love with him.”

Sam gave him a pitying look. “He’s already married.”

It was like a slap to the face. “Wh-what?! But you said— How can he be married if the engagement was broken?” he demanded. Was it all a lie to trick him into confessing? No, no he could not think so little of Sam. As patiently as he could, he waited for an answer.

“His engagement to Lady Naomi ended over a week ago, and in the meantime Castiel has been married to someone else. Hannah, I believe her name is. I wasn’t familiar with the name of her family. Well off from trade, but with no name or standing to speak of.”

“I don’t understand. That makes no sense. Naomi’s family would not do that without reason, and Castiel wouldn’t… he would never—”

Marry another? Not tell Dean first? What was it that he doubted?

“It appears,” Sam said, his voice a welcome distraction from Dean’s spiraling thoughts, “that there was a bit of a scandal. The details varied based on who told me of it, but the essentials are the same. Castiel and this Hannah were found in a… compromising situation. Attempts to hush it up didn’t work, for whatever reason, and when Naomi’s family found out about it…”

The pieces started to come together. “They wouldn’t allow such a slight from someone they probably barely saw as worthy of joining their family,” Dean said, his mind racing.

Dean remembered a conversation, now years old. A suggestion from Castiel that Dean find a lady with an understanding of his nature to marry. It was advice Dean had thought quite good for his own situation, but had never thought to apply to Castiel. Had he…?

“No doubt this Hannah,” Dean continued, “and of course her family, they insisted that Castiel make things right and marry her immediately.”

Sam nodded. “That seems to be the consensus.”

Relief swept through him. Perhaps not all was lost. Castiel’s earlier letter, it was likely a warning to stay away until the stigma of his sudden marriage died down. In time, though, surely they could—

“There’s more, Dean.”

The look on Sam’s face made it abundantly clear that Dean would not like the rest of it.

“Out with it, then. What haven’t you told me yet?”

It was telling that Sam didn’t immediately speak. He looked at Dean with pitying eyes. “Dean, he’s leaving England.”

“Leaving England,” he repeated, confused. “To Scotland?” Sam’s expression was answer enough. “Ireland?” he said with a sinking heart.

“His family didn’t care for the scandal or the lack of connection to Lady Naomi’s family, or so they say. The Novaks have a reputation, and I can readily believe they would be upset about this turn of events. You might know them better and know if they’re spiteful enough—”

“ _Where_  is he going?” he demanded.

Sam winced. “America.”

~ ~ ~

The chair disappeared out from under him, he was sure of it. There was no reason for Dean to end up on the floor. The air must have been sucked out of the room, too, for how else could he explain his inability to breathe.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s hands steadied him but provided no comfort. Dean tried to push him away; Sam didn’t budge. “Dean, please, look at me. What’s wrong?”

A broken sound escaped him then, something barely even human. What was wrong?  _Everything_  was wrong. He couldn’t see how anything could be right ever again. Any hopes that things might work out, dreams of stolen moments with Castiel if only they could contrive the right circumstances, lay shattered around him.

“Right, stupid question,” Sam said. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Dean croaked. His voice sounded like he’d spent the whole night sobbing. Surely he would, tonight and many more to come. “Break off his marriage. Make him stay. Find a world that will accept us. None of it’s possible. It’s over, Sam.”

“The first two might actually be possible,” Sam pointed out. “The former seems unlikely, given the compromising nature of the situation, but perhaps Castiel might be able to stay. Or even come back in a few years, given his family’s approval.”

Dean shook his head fiercely. He’d never met Michael or the rest of Castiel’s family, but Castiel’s descriptions were vivid enough that he felt he knew them. His brothers were not to be trifled with, would not take Castiel willfully tarnishing the family’s reputation  _and_  ruining the alliance they’d struck up for him.

“He’s probably lucky this is the worst they’re doing, banishing him. For show, they’ll likely not cut him off completely, but he won’t be allowed in England if they’ve sent him away. There’s no getting back in their good graces.”

Sam’s shoulders sunk a little. “I was afraid of that.”

Dean fell back against the chair, his whole body slumping against it in defeat. Sam looked at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” he bit out, unable to meet Sam in the eye. “Never realized how terribly pathetic your older brother is?”

“It’s not pathetic to feel pain,” Sam countered. “Especially given the circumstances. Dean, I have to ask… Do you think Castiel took advantage of this Hannah—?”

“No,” Dean said automatically. “He wouldn’t do that to anyone, not even to save himself. I’m sure they had an arrangement of some kind. She might already be pregnant and need a father for the child, or maybe she wanted out of an equally bad situation. Or maybe she’s like us, and the prospect of marrying a man who would make no physical demands of her was exactly the type of protection she needed.”

Sam nodded. He looked momentarily relieved, and Dean forgave him for ever having thought ill of Castiel. He’d never met the man, after all.

“I think the question is,” Sam said slowly, “how much do you love him? How much are  _you_  willing to give up to be with him?”

Dean’s instinct was to say everything, anything, but he stopped himself. That was a gut reaction, an emotional one said in the heat of the moment and born of his current despair. He forced himself to consider.

Given time, would his heart heal? Could he fall in love with another, or at least find solace in another’s embrace? Is he so certain of Castiel’s returned love for him, enough so that he would make foolish risks with his own position and future? If there was a way to make things work, how long was he willing to wait?

In all honesty, he didn’t know the answer to any of these questions, and was forced to admit as much.

“I’m not sure.” The confession pained him, felt almost like a betrayal, but he had to be honest with himself and Sam.

“Think about it,” Sam said, as though there would be anything else occupying Dean’s thoughts for some time to come. “I have some ideas—” Dean perked up at that, and Sam was quick to add, “but it will take me some time to see which is the most promising. In the meantime, you need to decide what you truly want. But please, do not lose hope, and please, don’t do anything reckless.”

Dean gave a half-hearted smile. His brother knew him too well. He’d already attempted to find a solution on his own, but that was back when the problem was only Naomi and a marriage close by, albeit to a terrible shrew. Now things were more complicated, and it felt more hopeless. Still, he would hold onto hope and give Sam a chance.

What other choice did he have?

~ ~ ~

Months passed. Dean let the news of Castiel’s marriage, his successive departure to America, and then the news of his new wife’s pregnancy wash over him. Dean received no more letters from Castiel, and that more than anything else killed him.

He’d made his decision long ago, but at Sam’s insistence, he’d remained calm.

This would take time.

~ ~ ~

_Dearest Castiel,_

_Forgive me for being so forward in my address, but since you have left, I feel emboldened._

_I was too much the coward to ever put into words, whether in person or in writing, when I had the chance. I love you, I adore you, I would do anything for you, and I’m sorry I could not be of more help to you when you needed it. You deserve so much more than the hand fate dealt you._

_I hope you’ve found some happiness in America with your new wife. I hope you find everything that you could ever need or want there, I truly do._

_Ever Yours,_

_D_

~ ~ ~

_Dean,_

_I hope you will forgive me for not being able to be as open as you are with me, but I know that while much has changed for me, nothing has changed for you. Give your family my regards._

_Things are well here, or as well as to be expected. It will take time for me to truly think of this place as home and to be comfortable with my new friends here. I suspect I eventually will find happiness here, for my wife is lovely and our son a delight to us both, though I’m sure you will not find me selfish for confessing that there is one thing missing from my life._

_Or rather, one person._

_— Castiel Novak_

_~ ~ ~_

Some days were easy, even good. His smiles came easily, he laughed, and life wasn’t just bearable but pleasant.

And then some days, it was hard for Castiel to will himself out of bed at all. Today was, unfortunately, one of those days. But since he no longer had the leisure to while away the day in bed, he put on a grim face and got up. There was work, always work to be done.

It was stupidly unreasonable of him, of course, this melancholy that often overtook him. It was also incredibly selfish of him not to enjoy the life he had, or at least if he could not enjoy it, to be thankful he had it.

The estate his family had found for him was very different from those he’d known in England, requiring a more active hand in its management than he was used to. It was a difficult adjustment, learning the role of master all over again, but it was a challenge he accepted with relish. If it was the price of freedom…

Relative freedom, he reminded himself. Freedom from Naomi, distance between him and his family, and the illusion that he got to make his own choices, but he was not truly free. Never to be open about his true self, unable to go where he wished or— or to  _invite_  whomever he wished—

A half sob escaped him then as a wave of memories threatened to overtake him. Green eyes and sandy blond hair and freckled skin and the flex of muscles and his laugh, his voice, his  _everything_ , it haunted Castiel. Thousands of miles away, the spectre of Dean Winchester followed him through his days, torturing him with a past that could never be again.

His hand clutched at the letter in his pocket, just for a moment, and then Castiel focused on his tasks for the day.

The manor was perfectly acceptable if not a bit small. It wasn’t the sprawling, opulent houses the rest of his brothers resided in, but he counted that as a blessing. Castiel himself did not need much, and such a “paltry” household would discourage his family from visiting. Though quite frankly, the long trip would do that. If they weren’t willing to visit him when he was but a county over, they certainly won’t cross an ocean to do so.

It left Castiel with very few others for company. The neighbors, though *very* American, were welcoming. Jody Mills was his closest neighbor and completely amenable. Meg Masters and her brother Tom were a good walk away, and though Tom was a pompous ass, Meg was enjoyable company. Miss Bradbury was one of his favorites, though she had disappeared to England a few months ago and had yet to return.

While he certainly did not find himself lacking social engagements, but he did not feel particularly attached to any of them. Or rather, his heart was not in a place where it could be so easily moved.

Hannah and their son were the exception.

Hannah was a good wife, and thankfully they were both well versed in each others’ preferences to know the marital bed need only be shared for the sake of having children. They had one son and still needed to discuss if they wanted another, but for now Samandriel was more than enough. Even in Castiel’s darkest moods, Samandriel brought light to his dreary, monotonous life.

If not for himself, Castiel would make this new life work for his son.

“Oh, Cas.” He startled at the interruption to his thoughts, looking up to see Hannah sending him a pitying look. “It’s one of those days, isn’t it?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his unhappiness. There was no use hiding it from Hannah. Very early in their relationship, they’d confessed everything to each other. Considering the arrangement they’d reached to get them here, secrets were useless.

It had been one of the most painful experiences of his life, confessing his love for Dean to someone other than Dean himself, but so was the way of things.

Some loves simply weren’t meant to be.

“I’m afraid so.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”  _I have to be._  “Where’s Samandriel?”

“He’s with the nanny, they’re out picking apples. We have some guests coming for tea this afternoon.”

Castiel bit back a groan. His neighbors were pleasant enough to spend time with when he was in the mood for it, but he’d rather shut himself in his study and try to get work done or, failing that, lose himself in a good book.

Or, more likely, reread Dean’s letter for the thousandth time and pretend he could still feel the warmth of Dean’s hand as he wrote each word.

“It’s Charlie Bradbury,” Hannah said by way of encouragement. “I received word she’d returned to town a few days ago and I thought it would be a good distraction.” She put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and smiled gently. “It might do you some good to not be alone, and she’s always had a way of making you smile.”

“She is a charming young woman,” he conceded. Well read, fashionable, and very opinionated, Charlie was exactly the type of person he would have gone out of his way to include in his social circle back in England. “Very well, I’ll make an effort to be a fully functioning human being by the time she arrives.”

“Good.” Hannah’s smile waved slightly. “She’s bringing a guest, though, so you’ll have to behave yourself.”

“Who’s she bringing?” he asked, his curiosity genuinely piqued. Charlie always had the most interesting friends, including her childhood friend Gilda who often came to visit.

“I believe I heard she got engaged while in England? It should be her fiance.”

“Fiance?” Something sounded off about that, though he couldn’t quite place _what_. “Well, I’ll do my best to be civil. If he’s a good enough young man to get her to marry him, then I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

~ ~ ~

Despite his promise not to be a grump, Castiel was still miffed to be called away from his study for tea. It wasn’t though he was being particularly productive, but it was much easier to brood in isolation. Nevertheless, when he was called to the parlor, he went obediently.

“Miss Bradbury,” he said as soon as he entered, doing his best imitation of his former self, welcoming smile and pleasant manners. “How good it is to—”

He not only stopped short when he took in the full sight before him, but he nearly collided with a table (or was it a chair? damned if he knew or could spare the brain capacity to care).

“Mr. Novak,” Charlie said, her grin positively wicked as she motioned towards the man at her side. “I’m so glad to have the opportunity to introduce you to my fiance, Mr. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel stood frozen where he was. He heard and dismissed Charlie’s words, was aware that both she and Hannah were staring at him, but he only had eyes for Dean.

In the years since he’d last seen him (years!), Dean had not changed much. He was still as handsome as ever, though perhaps with more lines under his eyes. He met Castiel’s gaze unashamedly, something akin to hope and longing written across his features.

“Hello, Castiel,” Dean said shyly when Castiel could not bring himself to speak at all. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you.”

Still he couldn’t quite focus. Castiel shook his head, blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and wondered briefly if he’d died or at the very least was still in bed with a fever. It was Hannah who caught his eye, inclining her head ever so slightly in a gesture he understood.

Permission. It was safe, it was okay, he could act as he truly wanted to.

He crossed the distance in four quick strides and threw his arms around Dean in a suffocating hug. The other man gasped slightly, then whined as he melted into the touch.

“Say you’re real,” Castiel whispered. “That you’re not some apparition here to torment me. Tell me you’re really here.”

“Castiel, *Cas*, I’m here, I promise you. I’m as real as I ever was.” Then he pressed a kiss to Castiel’s head, ran his fingers through his hair, and Castiel knew he was lost.

He pulled away but only so far that he could see Dean’s face. He cradled it, not caring that they had an audience (though it did appear that Charlie and Hannah were trying to discreetly slip out of the room), and went about re-memorizing every line and plane of it.

“How?” was all he could manage.

“My family, we’ve been investing more and more wealth here. It seems a lucrative area to own farmland and orchards, at least that’s what my parents think. With all the money we’ve invested here and my new American fiance, well, it only makes sense that I come to visit. With time, it’ll be easy to suggest I move here permanently and Sam stay in England.”

“What?” he asked in awe. “You couldn’t have possibly done all that…”  _for me._

In answer to his silent question, Dean kissed him passionately.

“I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me,” he said when he pulled back. “But I did cross an ocean to be with you.”

“I’m not worth it,” Castiel protested. “I’m here out of desperation, as a punishment even. There’s no reason for you to—”

“Cas, there’s one very important reason for me to be here, and I’m looking at him.”

They rested their foreheads together and Castiel closed his eyes. “Miss Bradbury knows…?”

“Everything, yes. We have very similar problems and were able to offer each other a very desirable arrangement, much like I suspect you and Hannah have. And now…” Dean slipped his hand into Castiel’s and gave it a squeeze. “Now we start a new chapter in our lives, and it’s finally one we can start together.”

When Castiel opened his eyes, he saw nothing but love in Dean’s.

“I’d like that very much.”

— fin —


End file.
